


Already Standing

by SpaMightWrite



Series: Working Stiff [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-10-24 20:31:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10749267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaMightWrite/pseuds/SpaMightWrite
Summary: Sequel to Working Stiff.Having met, had a fling for the ages, and exploded suddenly just one year ago, Jon and Tyler meet again in FCW, ready to make it big. Though it's in their very blood to pick up where they left off, there are obviously a few wrinkles. Mainly, where they met, where they fought before, and who's been watching...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> HERE WE FUKN GO PEOPLE
> 
> Short prologue to start, but hopefully more very very soon.

“What in bloody hell is ‘Cyberfights’?”

William Regal wasn’t exactly new to the whole “scouting” thing. It’s just… it’d become quite a novel experience now that even the smallest companies could easily post videos of matches for the entire world to watch. It was not only a time and money-saver, being able to scout from home before flying out to see recruits in-person, but it was a rather handy way to get ideas for what to do with them once they signed. 

Two of them were especially intriguing to him, one of them coming in about a year after the other. And they’d expressed an interest in working with each other, apparently having done so once or twice in the past. Notwithstanding they seemed to be rather close friends, or at least that was the feeling William got from them. 

Those stares certainly lingered back at the restaurant. William wondered if he had missed something. 

Either way, as was per usual lately, he started searching up the new recruits on the desktop computer in his office long after everyone had gone home that evening. If they’d worked together before, he’d want to see what they could do with each other. That way he’d have something tried and tested to bring to Dusty later. 

Other than a blurry video recorded by a fan, however, he wasn’t having much luck finding anything vis-a-vis Jon Moxley versus Tyler Black, as they were previously known. Aside from the mysterious, poorly-coded website that would require him to buy the DVDs in order to see them…

William expected to have heard of this promotion before, given his current role in this company. Basically all he did was look for other companies. 

This one was strange, however. There was roster information, DVDs of their performances, even preview photographs. But something about them was off. Maybe William was just tired, but he had trouble putting his finger on it. Something was missing… 

The crowd. 

It dawned on him when he clicked on a photo at random, which happened to have zoomed directly into a competitor’s crotch, his genitals unfettered by compression gear or even, as it appeared, any underwear whatsoever.

Aha. Fetish videos. Of course. 

He drew a hand through his hair and raised his eyebrows at that. William was intrigued, but had no time for mixing business and pleasure. At least no one was around to walk in at exactly the wrong time. 

… Well. A few minutes couldn’t hurt, he thought. 

And it was in those few minutes that he actually found something he was looking for. Two matches, in fact, between Tyler Black and Jon Moxley, available among others in a DVD for just $45.99, with discrete shipping available if it was important to him. 

It dawned on him then. Just how many people were aware of this… promotion? Their own company had changed recently, attempting to bring in more family-friendly fare as much as was possible. If these two were discovered by the masses to have participated in some sort of kinky romp on video, that may not be great for business… 

He’d have to peruse it himself, then, wouldn’t he?

“The things I do for my work,” he chuckled to himself, adding it to his cart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stumbles in a month later* Heyyy guess who had a big convention to attend right after starting this? Anyway here's more of this thing. More soon now that I'm far less busy.

He was “Dean” now. Dean Ambrose. Dean “What am I, a frat boy?” Ambrose. 

He wasn't sure if he would ever get used to it. Dusty had the idea, and as much as the new owner hated it at first, he had to trust him on this one. This was Dusty. You kind of had no choice but to listen to him. As often as he used to imitate his lisp and his drawl for the amusement of his friends, his respect beat out his uncertainty.

Regardless, it wasn't the name he put on the waiting list at the hole-in-the-wall karaoke bar - because he still sometimes forgot that no one but his old friends were going to call him Jon anymore.

He wondered if Tyler - Seth - still would. 

They hadn't exchanged many words beyond whatever they had talked about with Regal. The two recruits were rather quiet as the older one started off on some old stories that neither of them were sure if they were supposed to laugh at. The silence burned and crackled between them as they nodded politely and chuckled when they thought they were meant to. Their feet bumped into each other at some point, the cracked rubber of a ratty old clamshell squeaking softly against the new pleather of a running shoe. They both withdrew, an apology biting the tips of their tongues, but they didn't want to interrupt.

Independently of each other, they didn't want Regal to notice the scraping of a palm against denim, which was starving to place itself on the knee of the other. The shift of one leg clad in skinny jeans, drifting imperceptibly closer to the chair to the left of them. 

The many, heated stolen glances toward each other. 

Once they’d finished lunch and decided to speak more on it later (“it” being the only thing they came to talk about, which they promptly forgot in favor of Regal’s fables), Seth called out to Dean as he prepared to walk out. 

He was wearing that sheepish little gap-toothed grin, skin blooming under his hipster-frame glasses. “Uhh. We’re all goin’ out later, karaoke bar, it’s kind of a Tuesday thing we do.” There was a little shrug, as if it required more explanation than he was capable of providing at the moment. “You're welcome to join. If you want.”

“Yeah. I… I do. I want that.” He wanted to have more words to say. Shit that was actually relevant to how he felt, like about the storm building in his gut. The anxious noise crashing and screeching in his brain. 

All he could do was offer a crooked smile in return as Seth nodded and told him the address. Their hands touched as he hurriedly typed it the location into Dean’s brick of a cell phone, swearing to himself because he hadn't had to deal with a T-9 keyboard in way too long. Christ alive. He’d barely changed at all.

As Seth walked off, turning to wave, it was painfully and irrevocably obvious just how much Dean had changed. Or more accurately, regressed back to his old habits. The pre-Tyler era. A bit too much blood, way too much booze, working without any regard for his well-being. While he was walking home he thought vaguely about blaming Seth for it. If he hadn’t left… 

No. Bullshit. What a dumb-ass fucking excuse. 

Dean reached up and scratched the stubble on his cheek, probably a little too hard for the comfort of his fingertips. It was exactly the attitude of blaming somebody else that landed him in that situation a year ago. Instead of remaining friends, keeping in contact, growing with each other even if it was far away, he wanted to blame someone for how much it hurt. 

_That’s why we blew the fuck up, Jon,_ he thought. _Because you couldn’t be an adult for two seconds._

Dean got back to his place not long after that thought occurred to him. It was woefully empty of his own belongings, for the most part, aside from the plywood bookshelf full of bootleg VHS tapes. His roommate, matched purely based on availability and proximity to work, didn’t bring a ton to the party, either. The lone Knicks poster was almost sad, and not just because it was the Knicks. 

It wasn’t a second after he collapsed on the couch, kicking his shoes off onto the floor, that Colin poked his head around the corner of the hallway.

“‘Ey. How was lunch with the boss?”

Dean shrugged. “Pretty good. Didn’t get a lot done. Did get to hear some stories, though.” 

Colin let out a chuckle and nodded. “Gonna wanna get used to that. Dusty’s even worse, I dunno if ya noticed yet.”

“I spent about fifteen hours on the phone with ‘im and he’s only called me twice, so.” 

It occurred to him, somehow only at that moment, that he could ask Colin about people on the roster. He could berate himself later - he only had a couple hours before the outing. At least Colin could introduce him to the rest of these people without gushing awkwardness everywhere. 

“So uh,” Dean started, trying his best to sound casual. “Regal weren’t the only one at lunch. Guy named Seth showed up - ya know ‘im?”

“Yeah,” Colin confirmed. “Surprised you don't already. Figured you of all people woulda met everybody on the indies.”

Dean opened his mouth to toss out a riposte, but hesitated just a second too long. Colin was way too quick for him. 

“You know ‘im already, don't ya?” Colin drew closer, looking almost giddy at this discovery. As much as Colin could look giddy, anyway; he had height and chill in equal measures for the most part. “You tryna scope out your competition this early?”

“Something like that.” He felt his cheeks darkening and cursed himself for being such a pasty motherfucker.

“... Oh,” the tall one’s smile flattened. “Gonna guess it ain't somethin’ even close to that.”

Dean shook his head and waved a hand at his roommate. They hadn't even met a month ago, he wasn't about to spill his guts all over the shitty carpet. “Don't worry about what it is or what it ain't. No concern o’ yours, yeah?”

Colin held his massive hands up and backed off toward the kitchen again. “Awright, don't gotta tell me twice. Ain't my business.” After poking his head in the refrigerator he called out from over the counter, “You plan to eat before we head to the bar? Got some chicken left.”

“Nah. Have at it.” Dean’s stomach was more like a tangle of knots at the time just thinking about spending time with Tyler again. 

Seth. Dammit.

As powerful as his tolerance was, too much booze on an empty stomach would have been a bad idea.

Dean was prone to those.


End file.
